Of Ash and Phoenixes
by SyntheticSympathy
Summary: "We are like two flames. I cannot quell your passion; I can only join with you and help you reach new heights. Let her be the temper to your fire, as I no longer wish to be burned alive."
1. White Blank Page

**Author's Note:** So, I realize that it's been a while since I've posted anything on this site, but I recently came up with this idea. This first chapter is a little short, but it's just to test the waters, you know? If it gets positive feedback, I'll be continuing it. Also, please note that this takes place somewhere between episodes eight and nine of the Tudors, but there will eventually be a one year time skip. Most likely after the next chapter. Anyways, rates and reviews are much appreciated.

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><p><strong>But tell me now, where was my fault?<strong>

**Chapter One** - **Part One**

"I held your heart once."

Those five, one syllable words hung between the two royals in a bitter, regretful silence as they stared at one another from across the room. Anne's infamous stormy eyes glistened with unshed tears while the fiery passion that had tempted Henry so much was all but dimmed to ash and dying embers. The Queen's stance however, was as resolute and unyielding as her intentions upon entering Henry's chambers that night.

"You overstep your boundaries, madam." Henry's voice was tinged with underlying anger and the slightest hint of curiosity. Although he did not wish to deal with another of the woman's emotional fits, the King could only wonder at what would bring her to so brazenly seek out his chambers in the middle of the night. He nodded at the servant that guarded him during these late hours; indicating that he could leave the two of them alone.

"I loved you Henry," Anne continued in her own sad, hauntingly soft voice, once the door was closed behind the boy. "I love you still."

"You lied to me!" His voice swelled with the raging temper that had become one of his many trademarks. "You promised me sons that would be the very image of their father, and yet I am left with a daughter I cannot be sure is mine!"

Anne's face paled as her eyes flared to life for the first time that evening. Her nails stabbed at the flesh of her palms as her hands clenched into tightly wound fists. "You promised me that London would melt into the Thames before you ever stopped loving me!" The words were ripped from her memories and uttered in an almost unbearable cry. "Unless I've missed the herald, I don't believe that's happened, _Your Majesty_! You promised me love and honesty….now, well now, I am the most unhappy." _Because, you stopped loving me._ The words were unspoken; hanging silently between them in the tension drenched air. Her chest heaved against the strict confines of her corset as she breathed deeply and willed her tears away. There would be no crying; Anne had no more tears left to spare.

"And you dare question the legitimacy of your own daughter?" This time untold anger seeped through her dulcet tones as she stepped forward. "Think of me what you will, Henry, but Elizabeth is your daughter. She is your flesh and she is your blood! She is the only pure thing to come from our union, and I will not allow you diminish her."

"You will not allow me?" Henry scoffed at her words, a bemused smile quirking the corner of his lips despite the storm brewing within his chest. "You act as if you can control a King, Anne! Do not forget that I am the one who raised you to your station, and I can just as easily let you fall further than before!"

"So you keep reminding me," she yelled in return. "If it is so easy, why do you not do it, Henry? Be rid of me! Throw me into some dark oubliette and forget about me till the end of time!" Anne raised her chin defiantly; the long cascading tresses of her raven hair glistening like some dark halo as she stood against him. "Would it not please you? Would it not please your milk and honey whore?" Her hand lifted in the air as he made to grab roughly at her forearms, bidding his silence as if she were the one with all the power and he the consort.

"I will save you the trouble, Henry." Her eyes flickered like dying embers as she gazed into the orbs of deep blue that she had so foolishly fallen for. If only she had taken her Uncle's advice all those years ago and refused to allow her heart to speak for her in their scheme. If only she hadn't listened to her Uncle and her father in the first place. Anne had lost herself over the years. She'd become a diminished, bitter and burnt out husk of the woman that kept Henry's attention for seven years without relenting to his bed or having him seek the bed of another. She was stronger than this, and she needed to find that part of her again. If not for herself, than for the one thing that surmounted even this great and undying love she held for Henry. She had to protect her precious, beautiful work of art and the one proof of the love she and Henry had once shared: Elizabeth.

Slowly, and with every inch of grace the Queen possessed, Anne picked his fingers from first one arm and then the other as a sense of calm determination washed over her lithe form.

"Henry," she licked her parched flesh in an attempt to ease the words more easily past her lips, "I want a divorce."


	2. White Blank Page Part Two

**Authors Note:** I know this has been a rather long waiting period for this chapter and I apologize! Real life just sort of caught up with me, unfortunately. Also, there is a sex scene. You have been warned. It's not too explicit, but there will be more...mature content in the future. There will also be some historical inaccuracies since it is AU and follow the show more than actual history. (And we all know how many liberties the show took, no?) Also, thanks so much for all of the reviews! I'll be replying to them at the end of the chapter.

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><p><strong>Can you lie next to her and give her your heart?<strong>

**Chapter One - Part Two**

The dulcet tones of the flames crackling within the fireplace acted as the disarmingly peaceful soundtrack for the tension building within the small space between them. Neither the King nor Queen had spoken a word or moved an inch since Anne's declaration. Henry's blue eyes were clouded over as he stared down at his wife, and his full lips felt unbearably dry in their half opened state. The hands that she'd removed from her slender arms itched to grip her tightly once more and shake her with all the strength he possessed but his mind and body had not yet caught up with one another. Anne remained steady, unwilling to allow her gaze to falter as she waited in trepidation for Henry's reply, as time and experience had taught her better than to speak until the King had made his first move.

No matter how he looked at it, Henry had to concede that this was the best alternative to be rid of her for once and all. Yet, the fact that she was so willing to walk away upset something within him. Perhaps it hurt the heart most claimed he did not have, or perhaps her declaration wounded his pride. Who was she to ask for the divorce of a great man and monarch? Where were her words and her speeches of the devotion she held within her for her lord and master? Was it so easy to give up this great love she professed to have for him? Where was the passion and the emotion he was so used to and expected from her? Who was she, a mere woman, to walk out on a King as if she were the better of them? Why, the woman was mocking his very manhood!

"This marriage is not over until I say it is over!" Henry's fingers wrapped around the thick material of Anne's sleeves as he gripped her tightly in his hands and shook her as if his very life depended on it. "I am the fucking King of England! Who are you to make these decisions?"

No longer was the Queen's countenance calm. The entirety of her being shook with unbridled rage as she struggled against his demanding grasp. How dare he? Anne lifted her head high, tilting her chin regally as she willed all of the pain…every damned emotion he'd tormented her with into that one single glare. "I am the one who loves you most!" Her lips trembled with her declaration as her gripped onto the lapels of his doublet till her knuckles strained and turned white. "I am the mother of your child! It is my heart that you've spurned and my bed that you've forsaken, Henry! I am your Queen and the keeper of your heart! I've dragged my name through the mud, for you! I've allowed myself to be called the Great Whore of Christendom…for you!" The tears were finally streaming down her alabaster cheeks as she allowed the pain to rack her body.

"I am not finished!" She pushed him away roughly as he made to speak; countering the outrage in his glare with the torment in her own. "Yes, Henry, yes…I have lied to you," she waved her hands in her fury, "but never about the love I have held and continue to hold for you in my heart! I was forced into your arms, by my father and my uncle, but this heart…this wretched thing that beats within my bosom was given willingly and now I shall never have it back from its abuser. You possess me Henry; you consume me body and soul. Who am I, you ask? I am yours. I am broken, wretched and most unhappy, but I am yours…forever, I fear."

"Then why a divorce?" Henry slammed his hand harshly against the wall, barely flinching as flesh made impact with hard stone. "If you love me as you say you do, why ask for a divorce? This is another of your plots, witch! This is another ploy to further your favor!" There was something deep within his azure gaze that held a hint of sadness and an internalized need for the siren before him, but his own pride and vanity overpowered it.

"Because I cannot have you as you have me." The words were blunt and wretched as they escaped her stained lips. "You did belong to me once," she whispered regretfully, "when you were just my darling Henry. However, my Henry has become lost to the title of King and what an angry, demanding King you can be. You belong to your insecurities, Your Majesty. The fear of leaving England without an heir will drive you mad as it has managed to drive me to the brink, and though my love for you is indeed great…one thing overcomes it. I would die before I ever agreed to stop loving you…I would stand against every harlot and stand trial should I have to, but not at the cost of my daughter. I ask you for this divorce to save my Elizabeth from the same tortures I now see my actions forced upon Mary."

The King of England glared at his Queen; the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenched his teeth together and fought against the rage building with each passing second she refused to look away from him. Anne's eyes had always unraveled him. Now, as they burned with a determined fire and froze him with the emotions she harbored within her; Henry wanted – no…_needed_ her to look away. "You think I would harm my own daughter?" He reached forward, gripping her wrist as he pulled her harshly back into his arms. "Am I truly that much of a monster to you, Madam?" Henry's thumb pressed relentlessly against her throat as he maneuvered them so she was pressed against the wall and him against her.

"Never a monster, my love," Anne's deep eyes blazed as her fingers ripped at the material of his doublet and his tore at her bodice, "but a King. Always a King."

Henry's lips bruised hers as they crashed together in a flurry of eager hands and ripped clothing. Buttons and ribbon fell to the floor only to be followed by strips of torn fabric. Such was their need to touch – to feel one another that Anne found herself ignoring the biting pain of stone grinding against the flesh of her back and Henry only hissed in pleasure as her nails raked along the planes of his chest. He leaned back, ripping his damaged doublet the rest of the way off before pulling the white gauzy material of his shirt from his breeches to join it on the floor. Not sparing a moment, he leaned down to grab the dagger from his boot and went to work on his lover's dress.

The sharp edge of the small weapon glistened against the flickering firelight before burying itself in the thick fabric and ripping away at the corset that confined her. The glinting dagger scratched the valley between Anne's pale breasts as Henry laid waste to the ties of her chemise and she leaned forward to better tug at the heavy material of his trousers. Neither could move fast enough for the others liking as their hands ravaged and their lips sought each other punishingly. The Queen groaned as she hit the stone wall harshly once more and Henry lifted her legs about his waist where she latched onto him possessively.

"If I give you this divorce," he grunted the words before kissing the supple mounds of flesh beneath his lips, "you'll just walk away?"

Anne's nails clawed at the smooth expanse of his back; fingers dragging along the planes of his shoulders as she wordlessly nodded her head in agreement. "For Elizabeth," she ground out the words as he slid inside her, ignoring the preamble of foreplay in the face of their mutual need for possession. His hands gripped her hips roughly, bruising the tender flesh beneath as he impaled her - punishing them both for this moment of weakness and surrender. She tugged at the flesh of his lower lip till she could taste rust and salt while her fingers left deep welts of crimson that she prayed that milk and honey whore would have the pleasure of seeing. Together their passions merged and the bittersweet rapture of the great love they had once shared moved them to exaltation and the rest of the world went black with darkness.

When Henry woke in the morning, in his own bed, he had all but expected to see Anne resting beside him. Perhaps he'd even expected her to gloat or even demand the world to shine upon her and their 'rekindled love' as she would call it. Instead, he awoke to a bitter chill and a bed empty, except for one lone letter with a curling script he immediately recognized.

_My beloved Henry,_

_The pain within my breast as I write this is most unbearable, but all the same there are certain things in life which must be done for the greater good. I beg of you and beseech that you find it within you and the affection you once felt for me to let me go. I will retire to Pembroke and relinquish the title of Queen as it pleases Your Majesty to bestow it upon someone else with the express wish that I may one day return to and from court at my own leisure. All I ask is that you look upon our daughter kindly and remember that she is the product of a time when we were most happy. Though she is not the son you wanted and I so foolishly promised; she is created in your image and I ask you never to doubt the strength and intelligence that burns so fiercely within her._

_For all of the pain I have caused you and for any wrong I have committed against his Most Gracious Prince, I do humbly apologize. Simply know that I have loved you and will continue to love you with my every breath until that day in which the Lord shall see to take my unworthy soul into his blessed Kingdom. For all the wrongs I have committed in my life, loving you was not among them._

_I have many regrets and hope that I may make up for them within this lifetime, but never will I apologize for placing my heart within your hands or finding sorrow in the knowledge that for you my heart was not enough. If it pleases you to find happiness with Mistress Seymour, I can only step aside for the sake of our precious jewel. Please know that the love I bear you was never so great nor so enduring as it is now that my hand trembles and I write these words that gift you with the freedom you have long hoped for since the loss of our son. _

_You may believe me also, when I say, your Guinevere will never be able to stand where I have stood, Henry. Where I gripped your heart tightly in these hands and close to my bosom, she will meekly hold it in her tiny palms. You and I are like two flames, my love. I cannot quell your passion; I can only join with you and help you reach new heights. Let her be the temper to your flame, as I no longer wish to be burned alive. _

_Your most faithful and ever loving servant,_

_Anne Boleyn_

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><p><strong>Marina Ka-Fai : <strong>First of all, thank you so much for being my first reviewer! I love Anne as the fiery independent type. I hope to capture that with this story.

**Starfire201 :** I'm glad you find it agreeable! 'What-ifs' are always my favorite to explore and expand upon. I really hope I live up to your expectations!

**Lady Eleanor Boleyn :** A mother's love for their child is something exceptional, I think. If Anne suspected something could happen to Elizabeth, I truly believe she would have done anything to keep it from happening.

**Everyone Else :** Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm glad you like it so far.


	3. Wicked Game

**I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.  
>And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.<strong>

**Chapter Two**

It had been thirteen days since Anne had slipped out of Henry's bed and the castle without so much as a single farewell. All that remained of her were the ladies she'd deigned to leave behind – only Nan and Madge went with her – and the letter written to her once great love. It had been thirteen days since a queen had defied an entire nation and gathered the remnants of her own broken heart. It had been thirteen days since a king had slept peacefully.

How the castle quaked underneath the stomping feet of this mighty monarch and his all consuming rage! As it was when Henry became angry; his face burned a bright scarlet and his very eyes looked as if they could decapitate with a single glare. Courtiers hurried away from his path, hovering in corners to whisper among themselves about the gossip and intrigue that had filled the castle since her Majesty's disappearance. Many were uncertain whether to rejoice the infamous woman's departure or to fear the all at once imposing void she had left in her wake. It was only when the King had been determined to marry Anne that he'd worked himself into such an uproar and the entirety of his court felt the repercussions. Everyone, it seemed, had been touched in one manner or other by Anne's departure, but none so gravely or well noticed as a certain Thomas Cromwell.

It was Cromwell that had faced the full wrath and unmatched fury of Henry when he'd found his bed empty of a prominent head of ebony hair and found the rest of the castle similarly empty. It was easy enough for a King to leave his consort if the cards were played properly, but to have a Queen walk out on her master was unheard of. Were it not for the fact that the King had agreed -albeit in a moment of passion- it would almost be considered treason. He had told Henry as much, a sly smirk quirking his lips as if he were letting his monarch in on a great scheme. It would be only too easy. Where Cromwell had once valued Anne as an ally and a fellow protestant, there was no love lost between them since their arguments over the monasteries. In truth, he would be only too glad to be rid of her - to keep far too knowing words from finding favor in the King's ear once more. But alas, that damnable 'conscious' Henry so often hid behind when it suited him came out to play. His propriety would not allow it, he had said. Funny words, coming from a man that had been only too willing to have her Majesty disposed of only a fortnight before. The two of them knew it was not his propriety that impeded Cromwell's progress, but Henry's wretched pride and the fact that Anne had walked out on him first.

"You will get her to return," Henry had demanded of him. "You will get her to return and have her bow before me on her fucking knees."

"Is it not better to have her stay at Pembroke, Majesty?" Cromwell had been over this with the King countless times and the aggravation was unfortunately beginning to weigh upon his temperament. "You wanted a divorce, she is willing to give you one _and_ remove herself from court. I hardly see the problem." While he did see a problem, it was not one that Henry would be plagued with, but himself. He could already imagine the paperwork and limitless resources he would have to exhaust in order to see this 'great matter' come to a conclusion.

The King was on him in a matter of seconds; his hands gripping none too gently at Cromwell's lapels as he threw him into the wall and held him there.

"I am the King of England!" The man's face was too close to Cromwell's for comfort and he was forced to turn away from Henry's rage. "I decide when this marriage is over, not her! I decide!"

Just as quickly as he had been thrown against the wall, the Chief Minister found himself standing on solid ground once more. He breathed deeply, calming himself as his profession called for before smoothing down the front of his garments and nodding his head solemnly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he murmured the sentence complacently. "I shall look into this matter without delay."

"Bring her back kicking and screaming for all I care, just see that she's returned!" Henry strode towards the door before turning back to the man with a renewed sense of purpose, "You'll do all that I ask or I will have your head, Cromwell." He departed then, leaving Cromwell to regret the ambitions that had placed him in his current predicament.

Anne Boleyn would give neither of them any peace.

Even the softness of Jane Seymour could not temper the storm of Henry's emotions. He quickly sought her out after his words with Cromwell, hoping that her gentleness and her soft smile would make his spirits soar as they usually did.

"Does Your Majesty wish to have the Queen return to the castle?" Jane's voice was timid as she spoke of the woman that had all that she wished to possess.

"Only so I can divorce her properly, my love."

Her pale hands rubbed at his shoulders, but instead of relief he felt their weight as a burden. She assured him of her love and her undying devotion and instead of feeling like the Lancelot to her fragile Guinevere, he felt bored. Jane, fearful of the King's disinterest and Henry, desperate for a distraction, made love for the first time. It was everything it was supposed to be, of course. Jane had laid on her back, gripping him softly while whispering soft words of love and supplication. He had been gentle because she was delicate and ultimately breakable. He might have told her he loved her and caressed her golden halo, but he left their shared bed, mind heavy with the thoughts of much darker hair and more passionate caresses. The words of Anne's letter haunted him through that night and well into the next morning. Even when out of sight, he couldn't be free of her!

The wretched witch's letter had found a permanent residence among Henry's person. It had become crumpled and frayed from the amount of times he'd crushed it between his mighty hands only to smooth it out once more. It was a poisonous thing, this letter that he carried around. It wounded him in ways he dared not speak of out loud and tore at his subconscious like a wild hound locked on the scent of fresh blood. It simply wasn't right that she should have so much power over him while his had diminished in just one night. Though, if what she said were true, it was not his power that had ceased to exist but the concern for their daughter that had meant more.

Henry had pretended to be insulted that she would suggest that he would do anything to harm their daughter, but his lies had always been seen for what they were by Anne Boleyn. Had he not cast aside the pearl of his world? Would he not do the very same to Elizabeth once he was free of her mother? How he wanted to say no, but the echo of Anne's scoff reverberated through his every thought and his very being. Given the chance, he would have had her head and branded Elizabeth a bastard. In his anger, he still very much would.

It was on the thirteenth night after Anne's departure that Henry finally sat down and began to write a letter:

_Madam, I demand that you return to the castle at once! Who are you, a mere woman, to walk out on your rightful lord and master? It is I that have raised you to the throne you are now so willing to throw aside and it is only I that has the right to cast you from it and replace you with whichever 'milk and honey whore' I see fit. You act as if you are the one with all the power, but do not forget that I am the one who made you. Without me you are nothing but a spiteful witch, and it is only my generous nature that calls you to come to your senses now. Return to this castle at once so that I may go about the business of being free of you, or face the wrath of all that I have at my disposal._

_You will do as I command, and there will be_ no_ arguments. Otherwise, it shall be you that melts into the Thames._

_Your Sovereign, Husband and Master,_

_Henry Rex_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I'm so, so sorry it's taken so long to get this up! I'm currently working on the newest chapter because this one is just mean to be a bit of filler to indicate what's going on and such. I also wanted to highlight Henry's penchant for being a petulant little child when things don't go to his liking. Once again, I'd love to thank everyone that's been reviewing so far and who's still following this story.


	4. I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)

**I will beg my way into your garden**  
><strong> I will break my way out when it rains<strong>  
><strong> Just to get back to the place where I started<strong>  
><strong> So I can want you back all over again<strong>

There were no illusions of peace or harmony in the mind of Thomas Cromwell as he readied himself for war with his one-time ally, Anne Boleyn. Instead, the graying Chief Minister found himself pinching the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger as he plotted out his line of attack with a ragged sigh. It was doubtful that his mission would be carried out with ease or without argument; nor did he plan to underestimate the wit and prowess of the woman that had taken a kingdom by storm. In truth, the man still felt that letting her Majesty have her way was the best course of action, but to defy Henry in his current state was tantamount to suicide.

A hard pounding on the side of the carriage and the stumbling and ultimately unsteady halt of the horses indicated that Cromwell had finally reached his destination. As his feet once again found solid earth the man couldn't help but feel ill prepared for the task at hand. Even the element of surprise was lost to him as his gaze found the stoic form of the raven haired queen staring down at him from one of the windows. He could practically feel her dark eyes piercing through him.

The chill that racked his spine had nothing to do with the crisp breeze.

His steps were slow and carefully as he walked towards the main entrance to Pembroke; one of Anne's serving ladies waiting like a guard dog at the threshold of her mistress' domain. Such was the severity of Nan's gaze that Cromwell almost felt surprised that she obliged him with that bow that his position demanded.

"I am here by order of his majesty," he deadpanned – gazing dispassionately at the elder woman once she righted her position. "He has business that must be addressed with your mistress."

"I wonder that he does not come himself."

He recognized the voice at once; his dark eyes trailing away from servant to Queen as he stepped past the threshold and into the heart of Pembroke. She was the picture of regality despite her casual appearance. Anne's hair was loose, falling freely down her back in cascading ringlets the color of a starless night and the dress that adorned her alabaster skin was cut modestly in the French fashion. It was only the deep purple of the fabric that told of her station as royalty, and yet Cromwell could not shake the comparison between woman and mythical enchantress that formed in his mind.

It was moments such as this that the man could believe the rumors that this imposing creature was indeed a witch – Queen Mab in mortal flesh, perhaps.

"I am still Queen am I not, Master Cromwell? After all, what else would tear you from your monetary schemes than the childish will of the King?" There was a bemused expression on her features as she regarded him. "I have not been from court so long that they've changed customs. You _will_ bow to your superior, sir."

Any hope of remembered friendship flittered from the chief minister's thoughts as he bowed low before the Queen.

"Apologies, Highness." Cromwell glanced at the woman through his lashes as he waited for her approval to rise. "Tis a grievance shortly rectified."

Anne was quick to catch on to the double meaning of his words – a wry smile quirking just underneath the surface. If he wished to play chess; the woman wondered that he did not remember that she was the most valuable of pieces.

"You may leave us," she spoke to Nan and the few servants loitering about the room. "Master Cromwell and I have matters to discuss."

Cromwell was quiet as he waited patiently for the sound of scuffling feet to disappear into uncomfortable silence before easing his stance. "I have a letter from his majesty," he began – pulling the aforementioned roll of parchment from the inside of his vest. There was a terse gaze shared between the two before Anne plucked the item from his hand.

He watched the changing of her face as she read the contents of Henry's letter. It was as if a storm had passed over her and the expression lingering just behind her eyes was one of almost murderous intent. Anne's knuckles turned white from the strength of her grip on the parchment – the telltale sound of ripping fibers alerting him to her displeasure. It was with a slight trepidation that he formed his next words.

"The King wishes for you to return to court," the aging man stated. "It is his desire that you should acquiesce to his will till such a time that he can obtain that which would make him _most happy_."

Anne cringed at the use of her motto; a pained look taking over her features for the fraction of a second. "I had thought that my departure had given him just that," she recovered. There was a fire blazing behind her eyes that had the aging Cromwell on edge. "His majesty wished for my removal and I granted it, did I not? I am not to blame if the results are not to his liking. You may tell him that any condolences for his suffering must be granted by Mistress Seymour, for I have none to give."

"I am forced to insist that you reconsider your stance, Majesty." Cromwell sighed, already fearing the direction their conversation was taking.

"And I am forced to insist that you leave, Master Cromwell." Anne stood proudly; her very stance giving off an inarguable air of authority that demanded respect. "You may stay long enough for my written reply to his Majesty, but that is the only thing that shall be returning with you."

"You must be reasonable-"

"Reasonable?" As Anne stepped forward, Cromwell couldn't help but be reminded of the wrath of the king and the similarities between the two monarchs. Such was his trepidation that he found himself taking a step back. "You know nothing of the sacrifices I have made, sir! You know nothing of the pain I've endured and the longing for a ghost of a memory. I have agreed to this divorce Master Cromwell, but under my terms. I have lost the love of my husband; I will not lose my pride."

The man frowned; a deep furrowing happening between his brows as he contemplated the results of this debacle. He had known – no matter how much he had tried to deny it – that Anne would not yield to the wishes of the king, and now he had no other option but to return to court empty handed.

"As you wish, Majesty."

"Where is she?" The face of the king was red with unbridled rage, the veins of his forehead pronounced and throbbing as he threw his Chief Minister across the room. Yet again, Henry was disappointed by the sniveling incompetent man before him. "I instructed you not to return without her, Cromwell!"

"She would not budge, Majesty." The aged right hand man of the king brushed himself off after rising from the ground before pulling the dreaded letter from his jacket. "The Queen has given her reply in the form of a letter."

Henry snarled; grabbing the bit of rolled parchment in his hand before crashing unceremoniously into the ornate chair at the head of the table. The lilting script was immediately recognizable to him. It was a form of calligraphy that had brought both immense love and pain to him over the years, and a similar letter rested crumpled and faded close to his chest. The blue eyed monarch ripped the wax seal and read:

_Dearest Henry,_

_I am afraid that I cannot acquiesce to your most humble of demands, my love. Who am I, a mere woman, to deny my rightful lord and master that which he most desires? It is true that you have raised my unworthy person to the throne I now gladly take leave of, but would you deny me the right to walk away from a gilded inconsequential chair of my own volition when you have already cast me from your heart? That was my home Henry, and it was worth more to me than any throne. _

_Since you have brought her up, I presume I should ask about your golden haired Guinevere? Tell me, are her caresses as timid and dull as her words? I pray that you don't answer that question, majesty. You may save us both from perishing from boredom._

_I shall never forget what you have made me, Henry. Though, you seem to forget that I am born of blood and flesh. I am created in the image of God, and though I may sin and I may be weak – I am first and foremost a woman and a human being. This is not something that you can take away from me, sir. My crown and my heart are forfeit to your hands but I am keeping that which makes me who I am. You may never have my soul, Henry. _

_Never again will I give up myself._

_Without you I am lost and incomplete, but I will have my pride and a freedom I have not known for years. I have a chance to secure a future for my daughter and to see her grow to womanhood. I will be content with this as you must be content with your crown and your throne._

_You will never be rid of me, my love. Though, I will do as you command and return to the castle long enough to see this finished. However, I will not be herded like sheep in the process. I beseech you and the love you once felt for me, to grant me this request. You may expect my arrival in a fortnight._

_Anne Boleyn_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I realize that it has been a ridiculously long time since I've updated and for that I apologize. I don't wish to go into details, but suffice to say I've been through the ringer. I also know that this chapter isn't up to par with some of my earlier ones, but pplease bear with me while I get back into the swing of things. Thanks to everyone that's sent positive reviews and well wishes. I love you all! Expect a new chapter relatively soon.


	5. September

**Has it all gone to waste? All the promises we made?**  
><strong> One by one they vanish just the same.<strong>

Henry paced around the throne room; a deep frown marring his features as Charles Brandon, Jane Seymour and Thomas Cromwell watched from the sidelines. The king had been irritable and unapproachable ever since reading Anne's letter. At first, the monarch had been determined to drag her back to court and place her on trial for treason, but the rallying cries of the common people were warning enough against such actions. After Katherine's death, Anne giving up the throne willingly and the resulting whispers of gossip, the people were beginning to see the 'Great Whore' in a new and more positive light. For the king it was a nuisance and for Anne it was too little too late.

"He has not spoken for so long," Jane whispered to the much taller form of Charles Brandon. Together, they examined the tense posture of the raging monarch. "Perhaps I should go to him?"

Charles snorted at her words, earning a glare from their subject of conversation before he went back to his pacing. "Only if it is a funeral you wish for in the place of a wedding m'lady," he replied. "No one can placate Henry when he's in one of his moods."

"There was someone," Cromwell interrupted their whispers with a frustrated sigh. He had not slept soundly since his return, and the exhaustion showed both in his posture and appearance.

"Yes," Charles agreed tersely, "but now she and her high reaching family are going to disappear. What is it they say, Cromwell: Out of sight out of mind?"

"Perhaps you should tell his majesty that," Jane muttered under her breath. As far as the blonde was concerned, it was as if Anne were still there – perhaps even more present in the mind of the King than she had been while she was actually at court.

The conversation got no further as the great double doors opened and a familiar head of raven colored hair parted the crowds.

"Her majesty," the herald's voice boomed over the hall, "the Queen!"

A hushed silence fell over the room as Anne strode forward, her head held high and proud. Every eye was glued to her stately figure as she weaved her path with the sort of grace that belonged solely to her. Even Henry was captivated by her lithe form as she stopped before him; bowing low as she had all those years ago during their first courtship. His blue eyes examined her almost hungrily – as if he were parched and she the rain after a yearlong drought. Even though he had pictured her in his mind every night for the past fortnight and had cursed her very appearance before that, Henry couldn't help but find himself swept up in her captivating eyes and glowing skin. Perhaps it was purposeful, or the cut of her bodice but her chest even appeared more bountiful.

"Majesty," she spoke the title in her own dulcet and sultry tone of voice.

"Anne," he breathed her name in a rush of desire – reaching forward to grip her forearms and lift her back to his level.

The faces surrounding them became a mixture of confusion and dismay. These were expressions that remained as Anne coldly removed herself from the king's grip. Never had they expected to see such a role reversal nor had Henry expected to be denied so openly. Desire gave way to a rush of anger at being refused; and the storm that brewed behind his blue eyes would have left a lesser person to run for cover. Anne however, continued to unflinchingly meet his gaze.

"You are a day late, Madam." Henry accused in a low angry whisper. "Another ploy of yours, I presume?"

"To what purpose, Highness?" Anne asked demurely. She didn't want to talk or have a chat about mundane topics. Instead, she simply wanted to sign whatever papers she had to in order to be able to leave these wretched halls once and for all. "Had I wished to place you in better spirits for this little venture I would have arrived a day earlier, as I cannot wish to be done with it any sooner than yourself."

"Then what brought about the delay?" His blue gaze trailed over her, taking in the dark circles underneath her enchanting eyes and the pallor of her skin for the first time. "I do hope illness was not a factor."

"If you do not wish I had died of the sweating sickness all those years ago or after birthing Elizabeth then I am a saint," she replied bitterly. "Do not pretend to care about my wellbeing, Henry."

"I do not wish for your death," he argued – already tasting the bitterness of his words as he thought of his previous plans to be rid of her. "If there is nothing between us, then you are the mother of my Elizabeth."

"Your Elizabeth?" Anne scoffed, averting her eyes both from Henry and the last three people in the world she wished to see. Rather than bringing about an argument, the woman wisely held back the rest of her words. If she had learned anything from this; it was when to pick her battles. "I have been faint," she answered finally. "I am well now, thank you."

Henry nodded; glancing at her one last time before motioning Cromwell to bring the papers forward. Initially, he had wanted Archbishop Cranmer to officiate the signing of the divorce but the religious man had said that he could not oversee such an act in good conscious. It was a technicality that all parties were willing to overlook, and as head of the church, Henry made the final decision. His eyes trailed towards Anne as Cromwell read over the terms of the divorce and his mind trailed over their torrid past.

Where had everything gone wrong?

Anne refused to even acknowledge his presence as she listened to Cromwell's words. She was to keep her titles and land, have visitations privileges when it came to Elizabeth and the ability to come to court as she pleased. She could only hope that these favors didn't extend to her family – the father and uncle that no longer wished to have anything to do with her. If anything, she would have liked to see them drawn and quartered at the Tower of London. If she was surprised that Henry had given into all of her requests, she said nothing. After all, she had already given up so much and titles were nothing if she didn't have her pride.

Only the sound of quill scratching against parchment accompanied the signing away of her crown and the great love that had consumed her for so long. Even as she remained stoic and seemingly unfeeling on the outside, Anne could feel the last splinters of her heart shatter and dissipate into nothing. Never had anything hurt so much as giving up Henry, but she managed to remain grounded by thinking about everything she was getting back and the future she had secured for Elizabeth in return. Her daughter would not be another Mary.

Henry hadn't expected her to do it, and a part of him felt the bitter sting of betrayal. She had belonged to him for so long, and perhaps he had taken that for granted. Never had he thought she would sign that paper and a part of him regretted his decision to make the divorce so agreeable to her. If he hadn't given into her requests, perhaps she would have fought him. Anne had always been a fighter, and to see her just give in was the slap in the face that was too late in the making.

All that was left was for him to sign.

There was a collective intake of breath as Henry's quill stopped just above the parchment; a moment ripped from time and suspended in a sort of purgatory for all there to witness it. Slowly, the tip of his quill scratched against the paper and the deed was done. Once Cromwell went over the documents and placed his wax seal, they would be divorced. Their story would be done.

Their gazes met and Henry was surprised to see tears brimming in Anne's eyes. It was as if the rest of the room and the people in it no longer existed. All that remained were the two of them and the ruins of their war.

"Thank you," Anne mouthed the words – a silent praise from her lips the crashed against him as she turned and walked out of his life.

It was only then that the reality of the situation hit him.

_She_ had left _him_.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So, I'm not really sure how I feel about this chapter. In some ways, I'm really happy with it and in others I feel that I've fallen a little short. The thing is, I've rewritten it five times, and I'd really like to move on to the meat of the story and the time skip. I'd like to thank all of you that have reviewed, and I just want you to know that you spur me on and inspire me to write when I feel like just giving up.


	6. Notes In Constellations Part One

**It's been a long, long night.**  
><strong>You said you were mine.<strong>

Pale hands rested atop a swollen stomach ripe with child. They soothed the kicking infant inside as a gentle hum escaped their owner's lips and echoed off the stone walls. All around her there was the pounding of mallet against wood as the windows were boarded up and all the cracks were sealed. It wasn't a great matter to her; the loss of a little sun meant nothing compared to what she stood to gain. If she accomplished this task, then an entire Kingdom would lay prostrate at her feet.

Perhaps she should worry that her lord and husband would take another to his bed now that she was absent of it? It was what someone passionate in their affections would do. The Boleyn whore had always seethed with anger at the news of Henry's mistresses, but that was hardly sensible. It was not a woman's place to question her benefactor. The golden haired English rose was always sensible, of course. She was bound to serve and obey. If that meant turning a blind eye to his majesty's trysts then she hardly saw the harm.

She ignored the small whisper in the back of her mind that sounded eerily like her raven haired predecessor:

'_You do not love him as I love him.'_

She was fond of his majesty, and because of his love for her, she and her family would never suffer or want for anything. All she had to do was accomplish this one small matter.

Today was the day Jane Seymour began her lying in.

**...**

Henry's fist collided with the wall to the left of Cromwell's head; his face red with a fury that made his pupils dilate and the blue of his eyes all the more vibrant. How could this happen? How _dare_ she attempt to keep this from him? A part of him wondered if this wasn't a scheme of her own wickedly clever design. Although she was but a mere woman, she held a higher capacity for intelligence than many of his men. She had to have known that there would be eyes about her at all times; spies among her numbers to keep an eye on her lest she make a step out of line. She had to have known that he would find out.

He could hear her laughing at him as surely as if she'd been standing behind him.

"You're sure of this?" The King glared at Cromwell, willing him to speak the truth. The aging man looked haggard and somewhat petrified as he averted his gaze.

"There isn't a doubt, Majesty." Cromwell spoke in a low baritone – husky with his own terror at once again being the bearer of such unwanted tidings.

Henry flung the other man away from him, not bothering to watch as Cromwell landed on his desk and sent a flurry of parchment flying about. It was just so like her! Only she would dare to defy him in such a manner, to deny him and act the better for it. Ever since she had left all those months ago, her voice had whispered in his ear, her eyes had seared his dreams and that damned letter was still in his breast pocket! She had walked out on him, made a fool of him and now she was doing it all over again!

"Pregnant," he paused his angry tirade – focusing only on that word. Fleeting memories of happier times flitted through his subconscious. Promises made and perhaps not yet broken were brought back to the front of his thoughts. This was his tether to her; a new means of forcing her back into his clutches. So she wanted to leave him, did she?

No one defied Henry Tudor.

"Pregnant," he repeated with a calculating grin. "My boy."

_His Anne._

"Cromwell, have the livery ready my horse."

**...**

Anne screamed in pain; sweat marring her brow as she gripped onto the soaked sheets underneath her. She had been in labor since early the morning, the moon having laid siege to the darkened sky for several hours since. Her entire body ached and it was only sheer will power that kept her from collapsing in exhaustion as the midwife urged her to push. She _had_ to have this child – to prove to herself that she hadn't been cursed, that it wasn't her fault.

She _needed_ to have this child to mend and fill the emptiness of her broken heart.

The once Queen had found out that she was carrying Henry's child the day before her arrival to court to sign those wretched papers. She has suspected, when she'd missed her monthly courses, but to become so wretchedly ill during the carriage ride had confirmed her suspicions. In truth, the thought of telling Henry then and there had been all too tempting. It was a way to keep him, a way to chain him to her…but she had learned that such a love was no type of love at all. It had broken her, but signing those papers had been the right decision.

Never mind the blatant knowledge that court was no place for her stomach to swell and grow. Someone might have poisoned her, or even worse, she would have walked in on Henry and his insipid Guinevere all over again. The hope that had blossomed within her at the knowledge of her condition was to be nurtured, not thrown to the wolves. She needed this triumph in order to move on.

"Once more," the midwife urged – gripping tighter to Anne's legs as she brought the raven haired woman from her thoughts. "Push!"

Anne groaned, her teeth gritting together as all the air seemed to escape her lungs and the entirety of her face turned a violent shade of red. She felt the weight leave her body as she fell limply onto the bedding. A deep wailing noise broke through the small space – drowning out even her own heavy breathing. She felt faint; the lights swimming before her eyes as the midwife moved about the room and made a fuss of washing the child.

"What is it?"

Her own weak voice paled in comparison to the thick lilt of the man that materialized from the shadows of the door's threshold. Yet, they asked the question at the same time – their eyes focusing only on one another in the intensity of the moment. There was hope in Henry's eyes as he looked towards the child and something indiscernible but calculating as he glanced at his once wife. Even in her current state, Anne managed to hold her head high; a challenge brimming in her own famed gaze as she stared him down.

He no longer held the power.

"Tis a boy," the midwife paused – unsure who to hand the newly swaddled babe to. "A healthy boy indeed."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>There really is no excuse for how late this is, but at least it's here now! I know this is relatively short compared to my other chapters but it's more of a filler. Either way, I'll have a longer installment in a few days. I'm hoping to start updating at least once to twice a week. Thank you so much for all the reviews! I'll go back to answering them individually once I put up the next chapter but please know that they're highly appreciated.


	7. Notes In Constellations Part Two

**You said you were mine. **  
><strong>I felt so bad but I had to go.<strong>

Anne watched Henry as he paced around the room; a carefully blank expression plastering her wan and tired features as she cradled the babe in her arms. Such had been their actions for the past hour when neither of them were willing to be the first to break the silence.

She had hoped that there would be more time, but the knowledge that Henry probably had a spy or two within her servants had always lingered in the back of her mind. In a way, Anne was conflicted in her emotions. She wanted to flaunt the child, to scream to the world that she had done what they said that she could not. How she would love to see the face of the Seymour family once they knew! The defiant spirit in her wanted the world to know that she had given the king a son. How she wanted the world to see that she had spit upon their adversity and all of their efforts to put her down.

Yet, the realist in her and the very part of her that had forced Henry's hand in the divorce wanted to keep the babe protected and solely to herself. She had given up so much, and now that she had accomplished what would have once set her above all others, it only brought bitterness at the realization that it was too late and that he too would be taken from her given the chance.

"Did you know?" The king spoke finally, accusation laced in his every syllable as he rounded upon his once queen.

"Did I know _what_, your majesty?" Anne's voice had a practiced indifference to it as she moved to hand her child to Nan. The upcoming storm was inevitable, and she didn't wish for her son to be present.

"Do not mock me, madam!" Henry strode forward, his index finger raised as he confronted her. "Ignorance doesn't become you."

"Yet another difference between myself and your golden haired _angel_, I'm sure." She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she shifted her position on the bed to better face him. "Tell me, how is your new Queen enjoying her lying in? I suspect she's blissfully unaware of your current location?"

Yes, even Anne Boleyn had her spies.

"You are not allowed to speak of her, witch!" The tell-tale vein on the monarch's forehead had begun to throb in his anger. "Now answer me! Did you, or did you not know that you were carrying a future prince of England when you signed those damned papers?"

Anne licked her lips, weighing her words carefully as her infamous gaze locked onto Henry's.

"No," she stated defiantly. "I knew I was carrying a child – my child – and that I was giving him or her a chance at life that never would have been had I stayed."

The realization that what she said could easily be construed as treason was not lost on either of them. She had knowingly withheld knowledge from a king, and about his own child no less! Yet, the two of them both knew that he couldn't call her to account for her actions. To accuse her of treason would also be a means of admitting that Henry had made a mistake and that he was not all-knowing or as all-powerful as he would want his constituents to believe.

"You kept my child from me, Anne!" Henry bellowed, anger seeping from his very pores. "My heir, my boy!"

Her gaze hardened; a thin line forming from her lips as she attempted to lift herself from the bed in order to face her accuser head on. It was almost comical the way his confusion suddenly gave way to an unconscious act of chivalry. Anne slapped his hand away at the sudden softening of his features as he attempted to keep her in bed and off her of feet. She was determined, her weak legs finding resolve as she leaned against the bedpost.

"No," she shook her head adamantly, "he is _mine_, Henry. That child is mine and mine alone. He is my triumph, the last remnant of the love we once shared and my reward for giving up everything I have ever loved – everything I have ever wanted when I gave up you. You have taken my pride, my youth and my very sanity but as I swear it, you shall not have him!"

"You overstep your bounds, madam!"

"You overstep yours, Henry!" Anne interjected; refusing to give him any ground as she stepped away from the bed post to stare angrily at the man she so foolishly loved above all others. "Where was this passion with our Elizabeth? She is ours, Henry. Yours and mine. She is everything that was ever good about our relationship and the proof of our love. Tell me, have you seen her even once since our divorce?"

They both knew the answer.

"No," she repeated – glaring at him with an intensity that could burn a hole through a normal man. "If you want a child that is yours and yours alone, I suggest you go wait at the bedside of your saintly Guinevere. That is your child, Henry! The Lord knows that Jane has no personality to contribute to the poor infant."

Even Anne realized she had crossed a line once Henry's hands bruised her shoulders in a crushing grip. The anger rolling off of him was almost palpable, and again the woman knew what it meant to fear for her life. Yet even as he threw her back on the bed; towering over her in all of his kingly glory, Anne couldn't find it in her to relent. She had already walked away, it wasn't in her nature to run.

"You will return to court," he ordered through gritted teeth – his hands imprisoning her against the bedding by her wrists. "You and _my_ son."

"I will not," she argued. "Have you taken leave of your senses, highness? You wanted me to leave, and so I did. You cannot expect me to continue living in the shadows of our love, just because it wasn't to your specifications."

"You should have thought of that before defying me," Henry berated. "You will return to court, Anne. You will return if I have to throw you over my horse and carry you there myself."

"Surely you must see how unfounded this plan is?" Anne relaxed in his grip, ignoring her anger in favor of making him see sense. "We are divorced, Henry. Your new wife is expecting what she believes to be the future King. Would you put your precious Jane through the same torments I suffered by bringing me back to court out of spite? Would you endanger my son by exposing him to his enemies?"

"I am a king," he argued. "None would dare act against me by striking my son. Do you doubt my ability to protect my own interests?"

Anne gritted her teeth, a deep sigh threatening to escape her lips.

"You are but a man, my love." There was an almost sad smile gracing her features as she thought of a time when she had been all but convinced that the two of them were invincible. "Yet, you insist upon imagining yourself as the Lord himself. You can control fate just as easily as you may control the weather, but why tempt it one way or the other?"

Henry was quiet as he contemplated her words. No other would dare to tell him such things, and again he was riddled with anger at her defiance, and yet the truth to her statement was equally bitter. God had already seen fit to take away so many of his children, was it really worth it to tempt fate as she had said? No, he would not risk the life of his son but the fact remained that Anne needed to be punished for her defiance.

"You have four months," he decided finally. "Four months in which to enjoy your privacy with our child and for Jane to give birth to my son. During these four months, I will work with Cromwell –" The hateful glance she gave him did not go unnoticed and his smile was all she had in return. "I will work with Cromwell to create a list of four prospective guards that will be tasked with guarding both you and my son once you return to court. You will have the final choice from our prospective list."

"I will not – " Anne made to interject, but he gripped her face firmly in his hands to stop her.

"You will," he ordered, "or I will keep Elizabeth from you. You must be taught your proper place, Anne."

Anne glared at him – hatred evident in her eyes as she regarded the monster of a man above her. To think that she had once (and still) loved him so. They both knew that she wouldn't subject Elizabeth to their war and he was using that knowledge against her. "Is that all, your majesty?"

"No," he shook his head – an evil smile working its way onto his alabaster features. "I will also be naming _our_ son."

The raven haired woman quirked a brow in response, dread already filling in the pit of her stomach as she thought of all the names he could possibly curse her precious boy with. "And what is he to be named," her voice was filled with trepidation as she willed herself to ask the question, "your highness?"

"Charles."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So here it is, another update. I'm in the gray area about this chapter but I'm fairly happy with it as it stands. Expect lots of shenanigans up ahead. Now, onto my lovely reviewers~

To all of you left unsurprised by Anne's pregnancy, I'm glad to see my skills of foreshadowing are up to par. Have no fear, though. I will be throwing a few curve balls your way soon enough.

Lily - On the first account, you'll have to wait and see. c; I'm trying not to allow my hatred for Jane and her family to get into the way of my writing - so I'm still a bit up in arms about what I'm thinking of doing, but either way. I actually have too much fun with Henry's little tantrums, just because they're always so hilarious to me. But, rest assured that Charles will not leave this story unscathed or without being humbled.

Kate - Ha ha, it was questionable for a moment. I've been more zombie than alive lately anyway. xD Here's to hoping that my updates will stay up to par.

Starfire - This will always be one of Henry's problems - I feel that it's ingrained into his personality. It's why his treaties never last and the other countries always spurn him in the end. He's more petulant child with a god complex than he is monarch, but then again...that can be said of many other monarchs as well. All he knows is that someone took his toy before he could throw it away himself, and he's going to destroy the playground until he gets it back. Anne is by far the more mature party. I feel that she's constantly treading that middle ground between her old passionate self and the new somber maturity that comes with everything she's been through. At times you'll see more of one trait than the other, but she's definitely doing what she has to in order to get by. You'll actually receive part of your answer about Jane and Charles in the next chapter.


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